


Shake Hands, We Shall Never Be Friends, All's Over

by anthroxagorus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Heavy Drinking, M/M, Slash, Wedding Talk, flashback city, tragic gay love story that jane austen wished she wrote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:52:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthroxagorus/pseuds/anthroxagorus
Summary: Sometimes you wake up in the life you never expected to be living.Harry reconnects with his ex-boyfriend (Severus) around the same time he kind of, sort of gets engaged to someone else. Mr. OC is great and all, but the past is fresh in Harry's mind and now he's determined to find out what really broke them up. Which is why he has to keep hanging out with Severus to get to the bottom of thisPassion! Debauchery! Flashbacks! Intrigue! (Maybe)





	1. Visions of Gideon

Harry had been told that after school, Diagon Alley became a sort reunion every time you revisited its streets, but Harry hadn't expected to run into Severus Snape. He hadn't run into him for two years, but he was almost literally going to if the man didn't look where he was going.

“Hey,” Harry called out.

Severus stopped in what Harry thought was the most dramatic way possible, with the robes he always wore fluttering behind him. They were outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour

Severus looked skeptical, and while he was mulling it over, Harry scanned the familiar face, but found little difference. Maybe his hair had gone a tad longer than he usually let it. Maybe the hard lines of his face were becoming wrinkles. But his grey eyes were just as intense, just as soul pierce-y, and he'd apparently been by the Apothecary and Flourish and Blotts, judging by his bags, so nothing new there.

Finally, Severus returned the greeting, and so they stared at each other for a moment longer, now that this was a ‘thing.’

Of course, running into an ex-boyfriend is always awkward.

“So, er-” Harry said, while Severus started, “I was-” and then they were silent again.

“Been awhile, I guess,” Harry said and instantly felt stupid. Of course, it had been awhile, but he hadn't heard from since... well, whatever. Severus stared at him, and Harry thought he caught the pettiness in Harry's statement, but he wasn't going to say anything about  _ that _ . And that part sucked.

“It has been awhile,” Severus said. “I hope you've been well.”

Harry had been great, and part of him wanted to show how great he'd been without him. The other part had genuinely missed him, the good stuff, the friendship they had, and the… other stuff. They'd been together five years, though, and Hermione said it was more or less a bad habit. Maybe, but Harry didn't know how to throw away all that time together, and here was the opportunity to fix that.

“Do you want to catch up sometime?” Harry asked then.

“I'm in a bit of a hurry.”

“I meant some other time,” Harry said. “Tomorrow?"

Severus thought it over a long time. “Do you live in the same place?” he asked then.

“Yeah, I, I do.” And Saturday was good because Scott had already said he'd be busy, and Harry wasn't ready to have  _ that _ talk yet, until he had a few things figured out himself. He lifted a hand to wave farewell, but the man turned on heel as quickly as he’d seemingly appeared, so Harry closed his eyes and checked his appearance. He wondered if anyone had seem them together, if could possibly suspect anything about them, and then took a deep breath. 

This wasn’t helping. Harry had a some things to shop for himself for Mrs. Weasley's gathering that night, and surely this was the one thing he could get right. He squinted down at her list until the items made sense again. Flowers. Carnations. Right, to the stall by the bank. 

 

* * *

Mrs. Weasley had made it a tradition, with all her children out of school and out of the house, to have a big get-together for every known holiday that absolutely could not be missed. Lately she had also been celebrating days that seemed mundane such as  “First Saturday of the Month” or “A Particularly Good and Sunny Day,” but the Weasley children and Harry didn’t mind; they were fun and the food was good. 

Harry nursed a bit of wine against his chest, smiling and greeting the rather large crowd. There were so many people at this one, but it did seem like a good day for them to all get together (He’d forgotten this particular festival - Friday?) Scott crooked a finger around his own, a soft presence beside him. He was so caring, but  _ he _ was so drunk. Harry was glad for the crowd; he still had trouble navigating public displays of affection. In crowds, less people would be paying attention to Scott and himself. At least, he hoped. He crooked his finger back and quickly pulled his hand back.

Harry took a big gulp of his drink and coughed at the burn he felt.

“You okay, love?” Scott asked softly.

_ And he calls me 'love _ ,' Harry thought blissfully. Severus had never whipped out terms of endearment. Or, anything vaguely kind after something like five years. 

“I'll be right back,” Scott said, squeezing his hand.

Harry wondered around, hoping to find someone else to talk with. He was in a good mood, but where in the bloody hell was anyone? And who were all these people?

“I was thinking of adding another wing to the house...” someone said, conversation floated around them.

“I have always thought that -”

“Maybe we should-”

Harry felt the voices merge into a dull roar, and then it all died down. Harry followed everyone's attention upward to Scott, wand at his throat and his voice carrying suddenly over.

“Today is a special day,” Scott started. “Today is the anniversary of mine and Harry's first date, of twelve happy months of being with someone so kind, caring, and humble, and I hope Harry feels the same way. Love...” And here he was looking directly at him, and, so, too, was the entire crowd. Harry's stomach churned. “Harry, could you come up here?”

He extended his arm downward and the crowd was moving, pushing Harry toward him until Scott clasped his arm and brought him up with him. Harry dropped his cup, or someone took it for him, he wasn't sure. “I want to keep doing this,” he said, voice amplifying around him. “I want to be with you with the rest of my life. Harry, love, will you marry me?”

“I...”

Harry blinked at him while Scott put the ring on his finger and the crowd around them cheered loudly and Scott was beaming at him, squeezing his hand so damn hard. But like everything else in his life now, he quietly accepted it. It was the natural course of things anyways, wasn't it? Meet someone you can live with, get married, get kids, and wait for those kids to meet someone, to have kids, and so on and so forth. Scott kissed him around all these people and Harry's ears began to ring, his vision went black.

 

* * *

 

They said he'd passed out, but Scott had caught him, quickly got him somewhere to lie down until he recovered. They said it was the sweetest thing they ever saw, and partially Harry agreed that someone gazing worriedly down at you, attending to you, all of that was nice. Being cared for that openly all seemed very nice, a much different experience then with his previous boyfriend. Any time that Severus had so much looked at Harry, it was cause for a fight. Kissing was a political act, even if it was only around people that knew. 

But Scott kissing him (like now, on his forehead) elicited looks of adoration, and sighs of joy. Even though Scott was another man, the people around Harry had become incredibly supportive. Other couples were coming out and being open. The prejudices of the days before the war were falling apart. 

“That’s why we have to get married on the day of the end of the war,” Scott said. “It’ll be perfect, don’t you think? It shows things really are changing.”

“That’s in two weeks,” Harry had responded. 

But Scott patted his hand, told him he’d have everything covered and taken care of. Plus, Harry didn’t like those kinds of things.

“I’m just ready to start my new life with you.”

Eventually, Harry had extracted from the group, promising he wasn’t drunk, that he was perfectly capable to get home, and thank Merlin Scott had always had a thing about giving Harry his space. 

“You know me, “he joked weakly. “Too much excitement for one day.”

But he was about to see Severus that next day, and had no way of knowing how this conversation would play out. He needed to be ready, get his thoughts together. He’d have to tell him the awkward news before they could talk about anything else. 

_ You could’ve asked me _ , Harry imagined telling him, if such the opportunity arose.  _ You could’ve said… anything _ . 

But maybe he would finally be getting those answers.

 

* * *

 

“I'm surprised you wanted to see me,” Severus Snape said upon entrance, as he tossed off his cloak and made himself at home in Harry's apartment. Harry shrugged. He scratched at his neck, painfully aware of the new silver band. Painfully aware it had been two years since Severus Snape had entered his apartment, that even the very chair he sat in once held his bare ass. Probably still held his come. When had he last cleaned that chair?  _ How  _ did you clean a chair? Was there a spell to remove memories from objects?

Snape didn't seem in the mood to for reminiscing. “You've got news, out with it.”

Harry bit back the question in mind. Severus always seem to know what Harry was thinking. In turn, Harry could read the tension in Severus’s shoulder and neck, the cold steel in his eyes. “It’s not what I wanted to talk about, but you’ll hear about it in the papers.” He tried to meet his steady gaze. “I'm getting married in two weeks and thought I should tell you before you read it from the Daily Prophet.”

Severus made no reaction. Knowing him, it was the stillness that was the very reaction. Harry exhaled slowly. He had to keep his confidence up. Then Severus grinned, baring crooked teeth. “Married,” he repeated sounding both incredulous by the news and amused that anyone would ever want to do such a thing.

“Yeah, you know, figured it was time.” He fought the urge for a cigarette.  “I know how you are with the press,” Harry continued.

Of course, Harry never knew what to do when it came to Severus.

“So, how does that fiancé of yours feel to have a death eater's sloppy seconds?” Only Severus Snape could make a statement like that seem so conversational. 

Harry rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to be thrown off with Severus’s graphic talk. “Supposedly that whole affair was a 'dark phase,' doesn't count.” Severus's eyebrow quirked. “We don't talk about it, in other words. In any case, I want you to come to the wedding.”

“Two weeks, was it? Can't. There's a Potions conference Friday.”

“No, there's not,” Harry rebutted. Actually, he was bluffing.

Severus laughed softly. Moved around the room until he'd found the liquor cabinet and poured something liberally. Harry assumed it was his standard scotch, the bottle he'd long made a habit of keeping around during the “dark phase” - though he could barely stand the stuff: the scotch's oakey flavour always seemed too pretentious to be palatable. “Well, I don't suppose your fiancé would approve of your inviting me.” Severus had brought the bottle back with him to his chair.

“Probably not,” Harry agreed, reaching for the bottle to drink straight from it, an action which seemed to greatly amuse the other man. True, Harry used to have to mix the drink with a soda or something, but he wasn't about to tell him he'd drank a few bottles in his way of getting over their break-up. He was employing yet another tactic, which Harry informally thought as “A lot has changed in three years, including me.”

“So what's your aim?” Snape asked, resting back on his elbow. “What is this?”

“I want you there,” Harry murmured. “You're a big part of my life, it's a big event in my life.”

“I haven't seen you in two years,” Snape spelled out, his dark eyes watching Harry drink. Calculating. Fixtated on the band on his left hand. “I haven't been a part of your life in a long time. I'm sure you recall how we separated, how we –” He mock-yawned. “Well, you know.”

Harry swallowed a particularly large shot, then closed his eyes to let the smooth burn settle. He rolled up his sleeves. “Broke up,” Harry supplied, remembering the the fights they had, and, the box of Harry’s things out his door. No note, but all the humiliation.

Maybe it was because he was drunk but Harry had to turn his thoughts to something good – a rationalization for what made him date the man, that maybe it hadn't been a colossal mistake. He stared at the man and remembered that it was the same face that lit a fire inside him, that any time he gave him a certain look, Harry would melt into his arms, the same look he was giving now, all dark and broody. Maybe he was as brain-damaged as his friends thought. 

Present Severus was watching him intensely. Everything about him seemed intense. Maybe he could tell what Harry was thinking of and he didn't care because what they had  _ was  _ good and better than any other he'd had before and after. But Scott was the type that let Harry breathe without drilling his every action for some underlying meaning. Scott accepted Harry's odd quirks, ignored them really. He treated him as a contemporary, not the “Chosen One.” He expected little, gave as necessary... they had an easy relationship with little questions. What did the sex matter anyways? It was good enough, it could get better...

“You're not reading my mind, are you?” Harry thought outloud.

“Should I be?”

Harry swigged from the bottle. “I was under the impression you always were.”

“I don't have to in order to figure out the sort of things  _ you  _ think about.” Snape took the bottle to pour himself more. “You thought of little else but.”

“Sex,” Harry supplied.

“Sex,” Snape agreed. “Messy stuff.”

Harry smirked.

“You didn't invite me over for a last go, did you?”

Harry grinned foolishly. He was unsure if he was asking for clarification or consent and drinking too fast to care.

“Are you drunk yet?” Severus then asked.

“Maybe,” Harry replied. Hell, maybe he was still drunk from last night. 

“Come here.”

Harry set the bottle aside, stood and lost balance quite back to the table he was perched on when Severus was suddenly on him, guiding him to the couch with his arm, breathing on his face. Smelling the sweat and scotch, Harry nearly lost it then and there, what with the firm press of their bodies all over again. Harry was dizzy, yet so, so sure that he was the one kissing, and urging and tugging anxiously at the man's lower half until clothing hiked up and Harry's down and Snape was breathing hard against his neck with the effort of waiting till he was ready, bracing against Harry, eagerly rubbing their cocks together until Severus was entering him, finally, finally entering him, hard, to the hilt and Harry was waiting to pull him closer, to-

“Oy! Harry! Let the best man in!”

“Shit.”

“Like old times, with all your – friends – dropping by,” Snape muttered. “ _ Are _ you in?” he asked, thrusting particularly roughly. Harry tried to suppress a groan, and failed. In? What was he-

Oh. Harry shoved him off, while they both redressed and Snape slipped out of the room.

Ron burst in, eyeing his friend's drunken state. “Look, so, I was thinking – I said before I didn't really want to throw a bachelor party because the strippers would all be dudes.” Harry didn’t know how to respond here, as he had never particularly wanted to hang out with strippers, so he grunted.

“But then I thought,” Ron barreled on, “hell, you were at  _ my  _ bachelor's party and I know you didn’t care about it, but it meant a lot and I want to be there for you, yeah, so, uh, I’ll be there. I was thinking Hermione could hold the honors, but, uh, I'll be there. Yeah, I can be there – we’re friends, right?” Harry nodded slowly, trying to quiet his breathing. 

“So, does that sound good to you?”

“Sounds good,” he said, sounding high-pitched and crazed.

“Did I interrupt something?” Ron laughed. “Practice for your future husband?”

Harry threw the pillow he'd not-so-subtly placed over his crotch. Ron disappeared and Harry heard the door lock. Before Harry could take another breath, those familiar arms were snaking around him, lips back on his. He was so dizzy.

“Mm. Wait. Wait. Why-”

“You're not stopping me,” he murmured.

“Am now.” Harry said, throwing out his arms which none too convincingly rested on the other man's chest. “Remember how I'm engaged.”

“And – you wouldn't invite me like this if – ah – if you didn't want this.”    


“I wouldn't have invited you back here if I didn’t have another option, he replied, jerking back. “S’not like we can - hng - talk in public.”

In response, those long skillful fingers trailed down Harry's body. “Too much talking,” Severus reprimanded.

His back arched. Harry heard a low growl and then that mouth, god, Sev’s mouth touched down, landed around his cock and bobbed and sucked every bit of him, how long had it been since a tongue was probing around his balls, god, Scott hated it. Harry’s mind went blank when a finger pushed inside him, pushed him just off the edge. He would’ve called for something else if he’d had the presence of mind, but instead he let out some kind of wail and came down Severus’s throat.

Severus wiped his mouth, took his jaw and kissed him hard, teeth against teeth.“Thanks for that,” he said, wiping his finger on the couch. Then he took a sip of the scotch and began straightening his cloak and swear to god, Harry adjusted his glasses and saw the firm press of a hard, unattended cock.

“Seriously, you're just _ leaving _ ?” Harry called.

“You want me to stay, you want me to go,” he said sounding tired. “Can you make up your mind?”

“Could you stop being so  _ manic _ ?” Harry said back.

He grinned. “So when's the wedding?”

Five years in a relationship with that guy, and Harry still didn't know how to handle him.

Harry took a shower, and set out with his broom. It didn’t matter where he went, as long as it was somewhere far away, long enough to clear his head. Tomorrow, he’d be getting drinks with Hermione, working out the details of his wedding.

Today, he had to get rid of the image of Severus bent over him, a sweaty splay of dark hair on his cheeks, on Harry’s thighs. His dark grey eyes set to ruin him. 

Fuck.


	2. Trying To Be Cool

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Hermione asked, sipping her mimosa. 

But Harry didn’t know what to say. Actually, he was mildly terrified mixed with ill mixed with general anxiety. That cocktail of emotion was more than he was used to feeling these days.

“Where do we begin?” he asked. He had the vague idea that weddings involved a ceremony, a good dress robe, guests, money… Or no, there was the several ceremonies, the rehearsal dinner (if this was going to be like Bill’s), the party after, the dinner itself… the bachelor’s party. Harry’s head was spinning. “Invitations?” he guessed.

“Scott’s taken care of it.”

“He’s taken care of it since Friday?”

“Well…” Hermione said with a wry smile. “He was pretty confident you’d say ‘yes.’” 

_ I don’t think I said anything at all, _ he thought _.  _ Harry stirred the ice in his scotch with the little black straw it came with. “So who’s invited?”

Apparently half the wizarding world. Hermione named off the Weasleys, the people from his year, his house from Hogwarts, and of course Scott’s family (at least, theo nes that hadn’t disowned him), his best friend Jack, and about a dozen other people Harry had never met. He’d even invited the Dursleys, apparently.

“I want to invite Severus,” Harry said, still stirring his drink. Actually, he’d already invited him. Kind of, anyways. “He was a big part of my life. I think it’ll be good. Closure and all.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” she asked. 

“Didn’t Victor Krum go to  _ your  _ wedding?,” Harry asked. “I’ll invite him myself. You know, informally. Since the invitations are already out.”

Hermione frowned, but Harry was feeling a bit lighter than. 

“So… is there a color scheme we need to figure out?” he asked, smiling at her. “Gryffindor colors maybe?”

 

* * *

Liquid courage took him to Severus’s without warning and little thought but he knocked on the door obnoxiously loud and grinned at the man that opened the door. Severus leaned against the door-frame, any mark of surprise smoothed from his expression. He use to be  _ his  _ Severus. 

“Long time, no see,” Harry said. He was flushed, probably a mess all over again, but he didn’t care. “We never finished catching up. Do you want to go for a walk?”

Severus looked behind his door and Harry wondered if someone could possibly be on the other end. But no, it seemed he was merely making a decision. 

“If you’re not busy?” Harry added, a bit hopeful. 

“I suppose not.” He said, then grinned. “Sure you don’t want to come in?”

“No, thank you.”

Standing next to him, Harry forgot how tall he was in comparison to Ron or Scott or anyone Harry was near. When they’d been together, Harry would’ve hooked an arm around his to keep in step, but now he just had to match his long steps. 

“So how are you?”

“I am… well.” Now he was looking over Harry. “What have you gotten into?”

“Wedding planning with Hermione.”

“Delightful,” he said. Harry smiled at the sarcasm. He missed that sarcasm. He liked that Severus would find wedding’s as exciting as himself. They turned down the block, staying along the sidewalk and Harry thought again of taking his hand. 

“You’re officially invited,” Harry said. “They’ve sent out the invitations without me, but if you’ve got some parchment, I could whip something up.”

“I don’t believe I’ll be wanted there.”

“I want you there,” Harry said firmly. 

They were walking faster than Harry could keep up with all the alcohol in his stomach. This time he did reach out and looped around his arm, tugging him backwards. 

“Slow down!”

“Yes, Mr. Potter.”

That arm felt stiff now and awkward. Reluctantly, he let go and felt immediately stupid about the whole thing, about visiting him, trying to talk with him after what had happened. But no way could they talk about  _ that _ . Or… any of the stuff he wanted to know. And now his stomach was starting to churn again.

“What’s your fiancé’s name?”

Harry didn’t want to talk about him, so he answered in the shortest way possible. “Scott.”

“Scott.”

“Good of him to let you visit with this old man.”

“I don’t need his permission to visit anyone.”

“Do you need his permission to fuck?” Severus continued. 

Harry rolled his eyes, ignored the brief twist of guilt.

“I’d like to meet him,” Severus said.

“What have you been working on?” Harry pivoted.

There, that was a proper question. Severus could always talk about his research, and okay maybe he knew it was an obvious subject change, but it worked. Passing his house and circling again, he told Harry about some of his potions research that he could barely understand, about an opportunity in Brazil, and some articles he’d published. Once this topic was exhausted, Severus turned the question back to him. 

“What are you working on?” 

“Not doing much. I’m an intern at the Ministry. Complaints department.”

“What about being an auror?” He asked. “What about going back to school?”

He’d never finished his final year in Hogwarts, nor taken any sort of replacement test.

Harry shrugged. 

“What about Quidditch?” He then tried. 

“I don’t play anymore,” he said, with another twist of guilt. He’d never gone back to school, never did those things they had talked and planned for, that Severus had nearly begged him to consider. What was the point of planning for any of it anyways, when it was just going to end like that?

“You’re still young.”

“What about you?” Harry asked, edging on aggressive. “Did you do anything you wanted to do?”

“It’s a financial matter.”

So he hadn’t traveled or hadn’t furthered his own studies, like he kept telling Harry to do. But why would any of that matter? They stood again at Severus’s house, and this time he neither invited Harry inside, nor set off for another round.

“How are your friends?” Severus asked, in the way people asked about someone’s family, but Harry felt like there was an emphasis on ‘ _ your _ ,’ as if they had never been people Severus was acquainted with. Harry squashed down this emotion, too. 

“Good. Great. Ron’s been helping George expand the shop, and Hermione’s drafting policies for the Ministry. 

“The house elf business?”

“Giant business.” Harry realized Severus didn’t know about them, and reluctantly explained how Hermione had done some research with Hagrid and Mdme Maxine, how she  _ very  _ briefly visited giant territory, how she was fighting for their rights for a counsel. It was good work, important work, and she was nearly finished drafting her proposal, which was expected to pass with little opposition. 

“Oh, and they’re still together, of course. Married and all that. Probably going to have kids soon.”

And, because it was so easy to talk with him when he was just standing there, Harry told him about Teddy, who was growing up so fast in Bill and Fleur’s care, and about Mr. Weasley’s promotion, and Ginny’s wins on the Holyhead Harpies and how everyone in his life was moving forward. Harry kept talking and talking about everyone he could think of, and knew partially it was because he wasn’t ready to leave, that he might actually never see the man again.

Severus, in turn, told him about the people he knew. “The Malfoys,” he started, when Harry ran out of news, “are beginning to settle back home. And, Draco, I’m sure you noticed is courting Ms. Greengrass, a pureblood. Lucius is over the moon about the whole thing, talking of grandchildren. Even so, he is nearly the only person I can keep company around without losing my mind.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Harry asked, biting his nails into his skin. 

“Not exclusively,” he said, and Harry again felt a longing to go inside with him. God, he really was hopeless. 

“You can bring someone, I mean,” Harry said. “You know, a, er, date.”

Severus stared at him then, and Harry’s wasn’t sure whether to read pity or something else he’d wasn’t sure he could name, so awkwardly, they parted. Harry wanted so badly to reach past the boundary between them and to, what? Embrace him? Squeeze his hand? But he resisted. He went home.

 

* * *

“You’re okay, “ he said, touching his cheek, and Harry knew then all that he was feeling, all that they were feeling together. 

“We survived,” he replied, gazing down at him. 

When Severus was released from medical, Harry would then visit with him in his home. Ron, he found, needed space and Hermione had gone to her family, but Harry had come out of the war victorious, and in love. Being in love made it easier to forget the fucked up stuff, that Hogwarts was down, that people were dead, and there was still more progress to go, but his heart was bursting. 

He’d felt it before, those strange feeling in his chest, when he’d so much as brushed against Severus, when they’d been alone and together, but seeing Severus near death, being near his own death, those feelings had come all the way to the surface. 

Harry took it on himself to dress Severus’s wounds. They needed to be replaced on his neck, and on his side. Harry would undo the loose ones Severus would try on himself, and clean his skin, slowly, deliberately, winding bandage then back around the toothy gauges of Nagini’s attacks. Everything else the man protested he could do, but Harry liked the excuse to be there, he liked him so much. More and more, he found reasons to stay there.

“You’ve got to change the bandages,” Harry remembered arguing about one day, remembered winding the bandage around easily, muscle memory. He was so flustered just from touching him, knowing he liked it. “Twice a day,” he said, firmly. 

He lifted his gaze and found a mirror of his own desire

Everything had been so easy, then. 

 

* * *

Harry, once sobered and given time to process the situation, figured that whatever he and Severus did - because, sure, they both had done that - was this insane and weird muscle memory thing that had surfaced. (They were both very physical people.)  But now it was out of their system, it was worked out, and it wasn’t going to happen again. 

And he didn’t need to tell Scott a thing about it. Chances were he wouldn’t understand. He didn’t know anyone that would, because the whole conversation would turn into taking him to St. Mungo’s or whatever. Probably in the loony bin, right next to Lockheart.

So yeah, he was messed up. Harry knew that. But he knew Scott couldn’t understand it, so he gazed at his boyfriend - no, god,  _ fiancé _ \- and tried not to be a goddamn weirdo around him. 

By now, he was carefully sipping water and taking small bits of his salad on their lunch break, while Scott was talking about the guys he worked with and what they were doing and a billion things Harry couldn’t keep up with, but mutely nodded between every pause. Someone was having a baby, something about a promotion (but not Scott), there were way too many names to keep up with... 

“I heard you invited Mr. Snape to the wedding.”

Harry jumped up, the name cutting straight through the mental fog. He hated how Scott had to add “Mister” to his name. “Yeah,” Harry said, intelligently. 

“Is he going to come?” Scott continued. 

“I dunno.”

“He’ll need to RSVP soon.” ar-es-vee-pee, a slow annunciation. Did anyone have time to make a damn reservation at this point? Harry felt his head throb, and let the argument go. 

“Right. Er. I’ll tell him,” Harry said. “He wanted to meet you, also. I mean, if you want.”

“That’s fine. Uh…” he consulted his watch, then looked at Harry. “ I mean, we are pretty busy, but just tell me when works. We’ll make it work.”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

“Until then, why don’t we make time for each other tonight?” Scott said. Which meant sex. Why couldn’t he just say ‘sex?’ Or… something? 

Harry took a steadying breath, took Scott’s hand on the table and forced himself to smile. God he was ready to be fucked, to get his head set straight, to be a good fiancé, a good husband. 

“Sounds great.”

 

* * *

 

Scott liked to take things slow. Slow kisses, soft presses, and agonizingly slow thrusts. It was Harry that had moved things forward in that part of the relationship, at first charging forward and then being entirely hesitant when Scott still wanted to date him. Scott had been patient with him in a way he never thought humanly possible throughout all his neuroticism. He had even survived a few of Harry’s tempers.

Even now, Scott moved slowly, kissing him, undressing him methodically, and lubing Harry with first one finger, two, and a quick press with three. It was all too slow. Harry begged him to get on with it, and felt Scott stop abruptly, pull his fingers away and replaced them with his dick. Cock.  _ It _ . Dirty words didn’t fit Scott; they  _ embarrassed  _ him, so Harry fell silent, and found his mind wandering until, half a moment after he’d found bliss, he was ejaculating without warning and slumping back onto his bed. He wasn’t even sure if Scott had finished. 

Harry could hear him now moving around his room and peeked up at him, at once needy and empty.

“Please don’t leave tonight,” Harry said, sounding small and strange in his own ears. 

“Are you getting nervous?” Scott asked, settling next to him. He’d wrestled half a pant leg, and had stopped immediately at Harry’s request. 

“Of course I am.” He was a train wreck, an idiot about relationships. “But I still don’t want you to leave.” Scott settled back next to him. 

“I know you hate the focus being on you…” Scott said, examining the band on Harry’s finger. 

“We could just elope.”

He gave him a pitying smile. “This ceremony is going to be so important for gay wizards, for them to see they can get married, too.”

“Sure.”

“And I really want to show you off,” he teased. He’d had ample opportunity with the Daily Prophet constant reports of their dates. 

“Alright.”

“If you really don’t want to…”

It was too late now. “I’ve handled worse,” Harry joked weakly. 

“Just think that after, we’ll be in Paris.” Scott squeezed his hand. “And our lives are going to start together. And I love you. I love you so much.”

Harry mumbled it back and cuddled into the other man’s embrace.  That was it, they were going to start their lives together and Harry was going to be good, he was going to be alright. He would be a good husband then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention this story is set in 2005 (aside from the flashbacks bit), and the war ended in 1998. Ron and Hermione's eldest (Rose) hasn't been born yet (at least, not in this story), in case anyone was curious about where she was. 
> 
> Chapter title is a song from Phoenix. The line "I'm just trying to be cool, and it's all because of you," just the way they kind of whine that part... totally fits Harry.


	3. OK 2 B GAY

“I love the way you touch me.”

Severus, who had been stroking Harry’s stomach, lifted his hand then. “I have no business touching you,” he said quietly. 

“Why?”

His hand hovered over him, wavered. “You’re too young for me.”

Harry snorted.

“You would be horrified if you understood, if you were my age and saw how impossibly young you are now.” He lifted his gaze to Harry. “In comparison, imagine having sex with a first year.”

Harry made a face at him, tugged Severus’s arm back onto his skin. “It’s not the same thing. I’m 18. People my age have sex.”

“With people their own age,” he replied, but he resumed stroking his skin. 

“And we’re not  _ just  _ having sex,” Harry said. “We do - other things.”

“That just makes this sound worse.”

Harry maneuvered Severus's hand to his face and kissed the tips of his fingers, feeling each kiss soften the other’s apprehension. How could any of this be anything but love, whether or not they refused to name it.

 

* * *

 

When a knock came at his door, Harry felt like an idiot for even hoping it could be Severus. Instead a busty witch smiled at Harry and flashed a quill at his face. 

“Anita Blank, Daily Prophet,” she chirped. “Ready for your interview?”

Clearly he wasn’t. He glared at her, but her smile stayed plastered on her face. Scott appeared behind him and took over, to which Harry was grateful to run away. Plus, he still needed to attempt combing his hair down. 

“I really love the decor here,” Harry heard her say and he rolled his eyes as far back as they could. He’d never decorated a damn thing in his life. “Very rustic.”  _ That’s me _ , Harry thought.  _ Rustic. Chic. In style.  _ Half his wardrobe had been shoved in the hallway closet. It was beyond him why the interview had to happen here of all places.

When he’d returned, hair mostly tamed, Anita’s hand was brushing over his small book collection and Scott was leaned against the wall. Harry wanted to rip her arm off. 

“A fan of Lockheart’s?” she asked. 

“It was required reading in school,” he replied, incensed. She didn’t appear to believe him. She probably wouldn't believe that he had been partially responsible for his memory loss and felt guilty when he so much at looked at the books.

Her fingers trailed over  _ Pride & Prejudice _ ; he gritted his teeth. “You still read muggle authors?” she asked lightly. 

“It was a gift,” he said. That wasn’t a lie. “From Hermione.” That one was. Severus had bought him that book, and a few others. He’d been appalled when Harry had no idea who Mr. Darcy was, and refused to come over until Harry had powered through the book. 

“I read you once dated her,” she continued.

So she believed Rita Skeeter articles, too. “No,” he said flatly. 

“Drumming up drama during the Triwizard Tournament,” Scott elaborated for him. “I asked myself when we started dating, but they’re just good friends. Always have been, no worries there.”

“That tournament was quite-”

“Are we starting the interview?” Harry interrupted, rudely. As rude as possible. Anything to get her out of his apartment. 

Scott lifted a warning eyebrow at him, but that seemed to move things forward. They sat on his couch, Scott’s arm draped around him comfortably, Anita opposite on his lounge chair. She adjusted the seat, unpacked a Quick Quotes pen and then attempted to smile warmly in Harry’s direction, before settling on Scott. Already she could see Scott was going to

“So how did the two of you meet?” she began. 

“It was a blind date,” Scott said, and laughed. God, he was charming. How was he that charming? Harry, wished he could pick up that kind of charm, instead of being accused for being an idiot using his fame for everything. “Our mutual friend, Lee Jordan, he matched us up. He talked about a kind wizard, very cute, that liked playing Quidditch. Of course, when he described Harry to me, I had no idea he was talking about  _ Harry Potter _ so imagine my surprise when I see him sitting at our table reservation in Paddy’s Pub.”

“What a shock!” she laughed.

“I almost kicked him out of the table before I saw the rose. I just kept thinking it was some mistake. But, no, Harry’s really down-to-earth. He wasn’t anything like I expected.” Scott squeezed his shoulder gently.

“What did you think he would be like?”

Scott thought a moment. “Entitled.” Harry flushed. “I really had no idea! I’m sorry, love.” But Harry was remembering his first conversation with Severus, that sharp accusation:  _ Our. New. Celebrity.  _ He blinked a few times, came back to Scott’s voice. “...accepts me without fault. We were both looking for someone to settle down with.”

“A match made by Merlin.”

“Yes.”

“What did you first think of him, Harry?”

“I thought he was normal,” Harry said, which made Anita laugh. “I don’t mean - I mean I don’t care. I,” he thought quickly. “People act weird around me and Scott never did. Scott was honest with me, in a way that nobody was. A-and he’s patient with me.” God, he really was an idiot. 

“Patient how?”

Harry fell silent. He didn’t want to talk about that part, because  _ that part _ was the part after their breakup and Harry hadn’t exactly been well, which he definitely didn’t want to admit to the interviewer. 

“He’s had a hard life,” Scott supplemented for him, but he said it in a way that made it sound obvious, that he wasn’t going to say more on the subject, that she shouldn’t have asked about poor, damaged Harry. 

“Of course,” she said quickly.

How did he do any of that? God, he was cool.

“Harry, what made you decide to come out as a gay wizard?” she asked then, switching tracks. 

Because he had a partner he could be out with? 

“I - We - didn’t want to keep it a secret,” he said. “We didn’t see a reason we should.”

“And we wanted other wizards and witches to know they’re not alone,” Scott added. “It’s tough growing up, knowing you’re different, and not being able to talk to people about it. It shouldn’t be that way.”

“When did you know you were attracted to other wizards?” she asked. 

“I just knew,” Scott answered. “I was attracted to my childhood neighbor, in the same way he was interested in girls, but I didn’t know that what I was feeling was… considered wrong. Accepting that part of myself took longer.” Harry knew some of this story, and could hear the careful censoring. His friend had beat him, his parents had been horrified. School had been his escape. It had taken years for those relationships to be repaired, but now his parents were cordial with Harry, and Scott had been able to be friends with the guy again. 

“What about you, Harry?”

“It took me awhile to figure out,” Harry answered. “I was attracted to someone I shouldn’t be -  I mean, a, er, another guy - but I didn’t know what it was for awhile.” He faltered as Scott stiffened next to him, like he did anytime a topic came anywhere near Harry’s life with Severus. “I mean,” Harry continued. “I liked girls, too, so I thought I was straight, but then I liked a guy, so I liked both.” 

“Perhaps you were in denial of your sexuality?” Anita asked. 

“Not really.”

“Do you miss dating girls?”

What kind of question was  _ that _ ? “Er… not really.” Feeling like he should say something romantic, he added. “I’m with the person I want to be with the rest of my life.”

Scott rewarded him with a kiss on his forehead. 

Anita folded down her notes and beamed at them.

Gods, all he had to do was play his part.

 

* * *

 

“Was Mr. Snape really the first man you were attracted to?” Scott said after the interview, in between helping Harry put the furniture in place, the coffee mugs in the uncommonly clean sink. 

“First I know of,” Harry said lightly. 

“I didn’t know that,” he said, but his tone sounded strange. Harry didn’t like where this conversation could go, or any of the conversations about his life with Severus. Harry waited for him to say something else, but Scott just shook his head and repeated himself. “I didn’t know that.”

Of course Harry had told Scott about Severus when they’d been together awhile. Harry didn’t know why he needed to tell him then, but it had seemed very important. Severus was a part of his life, and the breakup had been difficult. Sometimes he wanted to talk about him. One day Scott and Harry had been having lunch with Ron and Hermione when the conversation got weird and Harry was tired of the comments. “Better than his last boyfriend,” Hermione had insinuated. “Better looking,” Ron had said. That was the one that did it, minor as it was. They had no idea what Severus had been like.

So Harry told him about the fact he dated Severus. Harry thought that part was kind of funny, that he’d gone from despising him, to wanting to be around him. He told him about the stupid fantasies he had during school, the multiple detentions he racked up to be near him.  He was going to tell him more, about the times Severus had saved him, but Scott had looked stricken. So he skipped ahead and told him about Romania and what happened. Scott took the information the same way he had when they’d talked about Harry’s life with the Dursleys. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he’d said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Harry, he’d old enough to be your dad.”

“They went to Hogwarts together,” Harry said, because he couldn’t stop himself.  _ So what _ , he wished he said. 

Scott had been horrified. Harry thought he would’ve understood, but he couldn’t articulate any of it. 

“I wasn’t coerced or anything,” Harry said, flagging down all the arguments Hermione had had with him, all the assumptions Mrs. Weasley made. “It was never like that. They just thought - they didn’t think it was, you know, normal.”

“It’s okay, Harry. Our pasts don’t matter,” Scott said softly. “I understand now.” Poor. Damaged. Harry. 

But he didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. 

They didn’t talk about it again, but Harry knew Scott had talked with Hermione about it. She told Harry so much. She’d  _ reprimanded _ Harry for justifying it still.

“He manipulated you,” she said, bringing up the old argument. “You know how he felt about your mom. It wasn’t right. You know, don’t you?”

“Mione…” he started, but he couldn’t finish the argument. Harry had been so tired of that conversation. He was manipulating you, he was using you, he was isolating you, he was abusing you. Sure, Severus hadn’t been easy to date, but they’d never tried getting to know him. All they had ever done was accuse him, and based on  _ what _ ? 

It didn’t matter that nothing had happened while he was a student, it didn’t matter how many times Harry included Severus in dinners with his friends, and it didn’t matter what Harry said. She refused to believe otherwise. They all refused to believe it. To them, he would always be poor, damaged Harry. 

_ I really loved him _ , Harry wanted to say to the present Scott. _ I loved him and he loved me. Of course I was attracted to him! _ But he would never say that. He didn’t fight them anymore with any of the comments or insinuations. 

Instead, Present Harry wrapped his arms around his fiancé. “Don’t worry,” he assured. “I think you’re very hot.” He pressed his mouth against his, attempted to drag him to the couch, attempted to show him just how hot he thought his fiancé was. They parted for breath and Scott laughed at him gently. 

“I’ve got to go back to work,” he murmured, allowing a few more kisses between them. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tonight?”

He laughed more, but Harry didn’t really find it funny.

“Don’t forget we’re having lunch with him,” Harry called out just as he rose his wand to apparate. “With Severus.”

And pop.

Harry summoned his owl (Toby) and wrote quick two invitations - one, lunch at Toothjane’s; the other, a wedding invitation, and signed both with a shaky flourish. “You know who this goes to,” he murmured. The owl nuzzled his cheek and went through his window. Harry then refused to leave until a response came back to him, a disappointingly small note, signed with his initials, but he would be there. He’d see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I notice that some people will write the wizarding world as super accepting of the queer community, because, hey, magical folks are marginalized, so marginalized help the marginalized right? Not really. In my headcanon, there's a deep stigma attached to being gay because queer couples can't reproduce, which may in turn threaten its survival as a race. In the books, no one is out - not really. Dumbledore's gay for Grindlewald? Cool. Name me one more canon wizard or witch that is queer, JKR, if you really want to be an ally. What do other people think about this? 
> 
> Oh, and about the story. How's the story for you? Thanks for reading!
> 
> Chapter title is a song by Tomboy... because apparently me ripping every chapter from songs in gay culture is going to be a thing.


	4. Be Good To The Lad Loves You True

“You’re sure this is what you want to do?” Scott asked, softly, meaning lunch, meaning whatever it was what he was attempting.  He’d met Harry at the ministry and they were to walk over to lunch.

Harry tried to not look too eager, which was easy because he also felt like throwing up. He drained his coffee.

“You’re all about not judging people until you’ve met them,” Harry reminded. 

“I’m quite sure I wouldn’t have needed to met _ Voldemort  _ to understand his character.”

Harry mock-gasped at the name, in the same Scott use to when Harry said it casually. This earned Harry a smile. He pressed his lips to Harry’s and they set off for their destination. 

Harry actually wasn’t even sure if Severus would show up, but they picked a place a bit further from work than most would walk. It was casual, the food was good, and they were just past the lunch rush. Plus, they bought a bottle a wine, so score on that front. 

And then, in the middle of their nervous small talk, Scott’s expression tightened. A hand clapped hard on his shoulder. He dragged a chair to Harry’s side.

“Hey!”

“Hullo.”

“Good afternoon.”

“So yeah, this is Scott,” Harry introduced, flushing hard. “And, yeah, Severus.”

They gripped each other’s hand in a wrestle hold. Harry noticed Severus had shook with his left hand, and had worn his short sleeved robe. He watched Scott pointedly ignore the dark mark. Though faded, it had still scarred his wrist. 

“What’s his last name?” Severus asked, brushing past his wine glass and taking hold of the entire bottle. 

“Westree,” Scott answered for himself.

“He didn’t go to Hogwarts,” Harry said. Meaning, you wouldn’t have taught him. 

“Ah. Where then?”

“Underverkkure.”

“Quite elite. And what do you do?”

“I’m in the Ministry, in Investigations.”

“He’s quite impressive,” Severus told Harry. “And you’re taking good care of our Harry?”

“I can assure you he’s never been better.”

Severus smiled wider. “That’s good to hear. You know, I practically raised him. Taught him everything I know.”

Harry gulped his wine down, which was a mistake. Now there was nothing to hide behind. Worse, Severus topped Scott’s glass, and ignored his. He was doing it on purpose, Harry could tell he was purposely withholding but there wasn’t much he could do about it.  They all ordered a meal they knew they would barely touch. Scott reached out and squeezed his hand.

“And what is it you do?” Scott asked. Harry noticed he had a hard time holding eye contact. Harry had never seen him so flustered and part of him was enjoying that Scott couldn’t hold onto his calm, that he could be knocked off balance.

“Oh, I edit for a few Potions journals. That whole murdering the previous headmaster in Hogwarts and taking over bit just really doesn’t go over well in interviews.”

Scott’s face went white.

“He told you about that, right? Harry, how much does he know?”

“I’ve read about the war,” Scott said, and Harry could see him recovering.  The war, of course, was a big no-no to talk about, and that was unspoken with the entire Weasley clan

“And he does know about us?” This time Severus looked at Harry.

“Yeah, a bit, yeah,” Harry said. “The highlights.”

“Take it well?”

“He’s still here.”

“The man that broke my black heart,” he joked, staring back across the table. Funny way to put it, considering he’d been the one to kick him out, to…. “What is it you want to ask me?” he asked. “Are things good in the bedroom? You taking care of him there? You know, he likes to top sometimes and there’s a place on his neck that-”

“Don’t talk about Harry that way,” Scott cut in. 

“I’m just offering advice,” he said. “I’m a pretty good teacher, actually.”

“When you’re not being a bastard,” Harry said. 

“Seeing anyone?” Scott asked.

“Does fucking around really count as ‘seeing someone?’” he countered. “I just don’t think relationships work with me. But cheers, and many happy returns for your marriage.” This somewhat cheerful note lulled the conversation into more mundane matters - the weather, the news, and then nothing at all. 

Scott had paid for everything, and Severus left soon after. Harry tried and failed not to watch him leave.

 

* * *

 

“That man gave me the chills, Harry,” Scott said. “That’s really who you were with?”

“He was just messing with you,” Harry replied. “And you passed. He likes you.”

“I could give a rat’s ass what a man like him thinks.” 

They stopped before turning the corner back towards the Ministry, Scott working up whatever it was he wanted to say before he was off to work with Jack and the best man speech and.. Well, whatever all that was. 

“I hope you’ve figured out whatever you needed to.”

But he hadn’t. All Harry knew was that he missed Severus desperately. He liked his arrogance, his forthcoming attitude. He liked his stupid humor and his hands and his voice, and gods, he was hopeless. He was completely and utterly hopeless.

 

* * *

“Did you leave your entire wardrobe here?” Severus asked, watching Harry bounce around the bedroom, intent on finding a very specific green sweater. 

“Maybe,” he replied, undaunted by the implication. “I don’t like dragging things back and forth.”

“Is that so? You know, even the owls are confused about where your residence truly is.” Severus had then located the evasive sweater and tossed it at him. “Where are you even going?”

“Quidditch game.”

“Hum”

“With Ron and Hermione. Ginny’s playing.”

“How nice.” He accepted Harry’s kiss goodbye. “Don’t be gone so long.”

Harry hadn’t stumbled back until after midnight, and had barely kicked his shoes off before curling onto the bed beside his lover. 

“Are you drunk?” Severus asked, refusing to put his book down.

“A little.” Harry nuzzled into his arm. It made it near impossible to turn the pages in the book, but he only adjusted and made no comment over it. Harry was a little drunk, but it felt good to hang out with his friends. They’d gone the whole night without ragging on Severus. It was going so well, Harry had a hard time leaving.

“I suppose you’re staying the night.”

“Mmhm,” he murmured “Have you got anything to eat?”

“Go have a look in the kitchen.”

Harry made a small noise of protest, then pushed himself away. He hadn’t expected to see a whole course meal laid out and preserved under a charml; his heart flipped. Severus had cooked for him, had made them a special dinner. Harry mentally calculated whether this was any specific date, but no, it was just a kind gesture, and he really was a bit drunk because he also wanted to cry a bit. Severus had kept the whole thing warm and waiting for him. 

He returned with a full plate with some water and balanced both in his lap, biting back emotion.

“Are you going to eat in my bed?” Severus asked.

“I like being near you,” Harry replied

“So he says, disappearing all night.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“Well, do you like it?” he pivoted.

“Of course I do.” Harry jabbed whatever the delicious, spicy vegetable mass was. “Can you make this again? Please?”

“If you plan on being here to eat it.”

Harry regarded his lover, the way his knees were drawn up, the way the book he was holding was more a less a barrier to hide behind. At the same time, he could see the tension leaving him. Gods, Harry loved him for his quiet acts of love and his awkwardness.  And in Harry’s own awkwardness, he pushed the dishes aside and lay on the book to kiss him instead of saying all he wanted to say, and then Severus responded, flipping him over. He urged Harry’s shirt up, traced his ribs, his spine. 

Harry wished he could have lived in that moment. He still wished it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, Scott's a wizard cop.
> 
> Underverkkure is two Swedish words put together, "magic" and "bird" though it probably doesn't translate correctly. I figure it made about as much sense as any wizarding school name. 
> 
> Title is a line from Housman's "Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all's over"


	5. To Wish Was to Hope, To Hope Was to Expect

Harry was drinking again.

Good fiancés probably didn’t drink as much as Harry was doing, but Harry figured he’d work on the whole drinking less thing when they were actually married.

Scott wanted to look at houses. Harry expected that kind of thing would happen eventually. Now, the idea terrified him. He’d have to clean up after himself, comb his hair, resemble something human. Scott had only handled his messes quietly, inviting him over more often than visiting to avoid those messes. Otherwise, all he’d do was clean. Now Harry would have to always be doing good.

He wasn’t sure suddenly if he could do it.

So drinking.

The house-hunt bit went in a blur. After they’d apparated a few times, Harry spent the other trips trying to not be sick. Today they browsed Scotland, another day they’d tackle where his family was from, more north. It was too much to hope to find a place before the wedding, but Scott was hopeful.

“I don’t want to move too far from the Burrow,” had been Harry’s sole contribution, but otherwise couldn’t muster enthusiasm for any of the house.

As soon as Scott had apparated with him home and pecked him goodbye, Harry had dug out the whiskey and had taken a quick drink, one to start working on him, calming him so he could think. Then he took another hearty swallow and realized he was far too close to the bottom of the whiskey he shared with Severus, he’d have to stop.

Or he could buy some more, ignoring the fact he didn’t know how to hide _this_ bottle from Scott because explaining it would be weird and confusing. No, why would he need to explain something Scott would never ask him?

Harry loosened his scarf and whirled back out the door, apparating to the familiar doorstop of Severus Snape.

 

* * *

 

“Hi,” Harry said, looking wretched.

“Nice interview,” he said and Harry groaned inwardly, remembering that stupid interview in the Daily Prophet would have been posted, the stupid photo of them. _It’s been worse,_ he might’ve meant.  

“Do you want to go to a bar with me?” Harry asked.

Severus’s eyebrows knitted downward. “Do you mean now? At noon?”

“Yes, now,” Harry said. “Please.”

A half hour later, Severus watched as Harry gulped down butterbeer like water; they raced to the bottom of the pitcher when Harry asked for whiskey next. Hands shaking, he tried to keep a level gaze at the other man who matched his every drink.

“Why do we have to live together?” He burst forth. “We’re doing fine as we are.”

“Affairs would be more difficult,” he agreed airly.

“He likes things _clean_ , like crazy clean and a _guest room_ and a place for a - a _nursery_.”

Severus blinked at him. “A plant nursery?”

“A _baby_ nursery.”

Severus reached over and finished Harry’s drink.

“He cares what color the outside blinds are!” Harry continued.

“We all have our down side.”

And so they bartered back and forth until they couldn’t stomach more to drink, and other patrons had started spilling in.

Severus hauled Harry to his place. Harry might’ve appreciated the chance to look around if the room would’ve stopped spinning. He would’ve noticed the new painting, and the familiar throw. The coffee stained table and the indoor plants.

“Is this going to be the last time I see you?” Harry said out loud. “I keep thinking that. This will be the last time and I can’t stand it.”

“You were perfectly fine without me before,” Severus replied.“You had your whole clan, and, until recently, didn't show up drunk at my home.”

Harry’s heart clenched. “Do I look fine? Do you think I ever stopped thinking about what happened, about _you_?”

“Don't be dramatic.”

And then he unintentionally did a rather dramatic thing: he vomited in Severus’s doorway.

 

* * *

 

Harry had made Severus his plus one to Hermione and Ron’s wedding, assuring them they wouldn’t get drunk and make out at the reception. Ignoring their revulsion at his suggestion, he promised to pretend they were just really, really good friends. Besides, there would be people there that Harry preferred didn’t know about the situation.

When his best friends took their vows, and gazed at one another, Severus had only squeezed a part of his elbow warmly. Harry’d have given anything to kiss his cheek. Instead, he felt his cheeks redden (from frustration? From the implication of that squeeze?) and rested his leg closer to Severus’s  At dinner, they swapped their name plates around for the seats by the wall. The cloth tables would hide their hands, the vantage point would remind them to be careful.

They had been sat at a “Hogwarts” table - with McGonagall and some other teacher Harry didn’t really know and then with Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and Dean Thomas. He and Severus had pretended to sneer at the wedding tradition, as two stupid bachelors that weren’t actually playing with the idea of their own ceremony. When the others in the table tried engaging them into the conversation, they were short, experimenting with how far could a hand travel up a leg before it was apparent where those arms were traveling.

“Oh, Harry, come out and dance,” Hermione had begged, when the tables emptied and most everyone had wandered out at the dance floor.

“I’m fine,” he responded, pointedly ignoring the daggers in her eyes, the “it’s my wedding and you’ll do what a say” glare. “I don’t want to leave Severus alone.”

“Oh…” she said, looking at him for backup, as if Severus might possibly say ‘Oh, Harry, go be young and dance with the little lady’ but Severus kept his expression entirely neutral. She then cleared her throat and tried prompting him. “Maybe he can spare you?” she tried.

“Maybe he wouldn’t like to dance at all,” Severus said evenly. “He’s embarrassing, actually. You can’t take him anywhere.”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” he confirmed. “Yule Ball.”

“You looked as if you were having a seizure.”

“Might’ve been.”

“For your own safety, miss,” Severus said, “you should not dance with Harry Potter.”

Her face crumpled; Severus appeared satisfied, but Harry hated to see anyone upset. He unhooked himself from Severus, reached out and caught onto Neville Longbottom’s arm who was passing by, tugging him down to whisper quickly if he might offer a dance. He flushed, baffled that Harry would give up dancing with such a pretty girl, but took it upon Harry’s charity and offered her his arm. Problem solved.

“Do you really think I’m that bad of a dancer?” Harry asked, leaned back comfortably next to him. He watched the male and female pairs sway with one another, doe-eyed and captivated by the whole moment. He caught Ron’s uncle tables away, stolidly watching as they, and imagined he was a poof like them, wishing things were different.

“Entirely,” he replied. “I’ve watched you try to keep time with the songs all night.”

“Well, I want to dance with you right now,” Harry said softly. “I wish we could…”

He sucked in his breath by him, but they had as much as a right, even Ron’s uncle and all the other queer guys out there hiding behinds norms.. They’d probably been together longer than most of those couples. He knew the whole thing was impossible, and it seemed so stupid, but he just wanted to be in Severus’s arms, to be led by him, and to not have to hide any of how he felt, which he knew was love. He wanted to be with all the other couples, just like them.

“I hope,” he replied softly, slowly. Harry still heard their echo in the present. “I hope someday we might.”

 

* * *

 

The steaming yellow-green puddle vanished cleanly under Severus’s wand, taking what hit Harry’s clothes and their shoes out as well. Now Harry’s head pounded, but he vomited too many times to feel the shame of it. Just the levity.

“Go home, Harry. You’re drunk.”

Apparently it was too much to get any heartfelt response from someone that had just decided to throw his things out one day. He wiped his mouth and stared up at the man, but wasn’t it now or never?

“Why didn’t you ever write me back?” Harry asked. “Why did you kick me out after Romania? Severus…”

Severus had taken on a pained expression. He took an unsteady step toward him and then another, catching himself on Harry’s shoulders.

“Just go home.”

Well, fuck. This use to be his home, the closest thing to home he’d ever had. Harry stumbled back and appararated away with his little dignity tipped precariously, dangerously by the flood of tears that met him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a line in Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.
> 
> If you like this story, hey please creep on my other stuff. If you don't like it, haha you poor sap, I got you halfway through this drama!!


	6. I Only Vex You The More I Try

Needless to say, he was late for work the next morning.

His internship with the Ministry was a joke. He got letters, skimmed them, and sent them the appropriate response that matched the complaint on a long form. Half the time, he was writing “The Ministry is aware of this issue and is working toward a solution. Thank you for your inquiry. Best, Complaints Division, The Ministry of Magic” or something like that. Some of it he was supposed to redirect to other departments if it had to do with other species or with muggles. None of it was very interesting.

Harry was about a month into the internship and hated every minute of it, so he spiked his coffee with a bit of Ogden’s to fight off the hangover. This tactic wasn’t unusual, but it made Harry laugh to think Scott would never do something like this. Scott hated drinking, hated fun. But Harry had to get by somehow.

Which he did, he had to endure the whole internship thing. Begrudgingly, he knew Scott was right. He needed to build a resumé, needed to have a real job and needed to stop relying on his parent’s fortune. And Harry knew he should be grateful to Hermione for getting him this opportunity, even if it didn’t pay much.

He just hated it.

There was too much going on after the war to worry about a career or going back to school. Harry split his time between being with Severus and helping rebuild Hogwarts. Then he found himself helping out at Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes and clearing out the Black home. For awhile he was involved with a local Quidditch league. Okay, at some point, he had been working on the going back to school thing, but then the breakup happened and he never got back around to it.

So, he guessed, this was the kind of job a person got when they put school off and all that.

Just definitely not the kind of job for an aspiring auror.

Which… Shacklebolt (Mr.MoM) said there would be a place for Harry in the ranks, it was a matter of the certification, just a few years of classes. But that wasn’t all of it. It involved getting out of bed, interacting with other people, looking decent. Harry didn’t know how to explain to someone it could take days for him to just move his cloak back into his wardrobe, but that he would stare at it for those days leading up, begging himself to put that thing away. How do you explain something so stupid, but say yeah, that’s me, I’m that stupid. How the hell?

If he thought about it too long, he would spiral somewhere deep into despair so he shut that shit down and tried to think of Scott, Scott who was going to take him to lunch, and who was pretty tolerable about Harry’s moods. He didn’t push Harry like Severus did (shit, there he went again. Comparing. Thinking about him. Stop.)

Yeah but if Harry threw up in front of Scott, Scott would have helped him wash his mouth out, had gotten him water and taken him to bed. He wouldn’t have thrown him out.  Except, yeah, the circumstances were different, they weren’t comparable, because he wasn’t dating Severus anymore.

Stop, stop, stop.

The other thing he hadn’t been able to really tell anyone (but Severus) was that he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to be an auror anymore. It had made a lot of sense back then when Voldemort had been his entire life, but after the war, he wasn’t sure he was ready to enter any more battles. The thing was… how could the Chosen One be anything but a champion for the wizarding world? And he didn’t really have an answer for them. He had all the markings of a good auror, definitely a good resume there with the whole defeating the Dark Lord.

Gods, he had no idea what he wanted.

He needed to stop drinking.

 

* * *

 

Romania was beautiful, there was no getting around that.

Once Harry and the others had settled in, and greeted Charlie and met some of his favorite dragons, there were long periods of lying about, enjoying the lakes and then the ocean and enjoying themselves. But first, Harry needed to send Severus a letter.

Things had gotten heated before he left, and he wish he hadn’t left on that note. He knew it was hard on Severus, and gods, who wouldn’t like being attacked for being in love? While traveling, he found some bit of clarity in the situation - maybe the Weasleys wouldn’t warm up to Severus, but that didn’t mean he should’ve left when they were fighting. He shouldn’t have left.

_If you won’t come here, I’ll just have to come back there. I miss you. I love you._

It was a cheesy letter, but he’d never actually written those big words “I love you” and it made him smile seeing it, affirming it. He handed the letter to Ginny, who knew where the post was, and awaited his letter, knowing it would come in just as soon as Harry’s arrived.

But nothing came in. He wrote another, though Ginny assured him the owls never failed, and bit back the urge to write more. It just didn’t make sense. Did the post really take that long from here? It should’ve been a week at most.

But nothing arrived the entire month he’d been gone and when he tried to apparate home, he was instead met with a box of his things at the back door. There was his favorite tea, his socks, a book on Quidditch he’d left eons ago, even a toothbrush, all flung haphazardly in a bin. His heart sank. He tried knocking on the door, but felt the wisps of a silencing spell. It was no use.

Not knowing what else to do, he took those things to his long-abandoned apartment and pulled them one by one out of the box, searching for a letter, for anything, It just didn’t make sense. It had been a fight, but it hadn’t been _that_ big of one. Had it?

His friends stopped by later, apparently having mixed up some of Harry’s clothes with Ron’s in the mad-rush of packing. Harry wordlessly answered the door and didn’t know what to do.

“Everything okay?”

Harry tried to work his jaw, his tongue felt heavy. He slumped forward and gestured to the box.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on, what - what happened?” Harry didn’t miss the hopeful note in his voice. He was afraid he was going to be ill.

“I think it’s - I think it’s over,” Harry grabbed for his own robes. “I need to talk to him.”

“Well, hold on - maybe you need to let him come to you,” Hermione said, reaching for him. She guided him to his dusty couch, to which he sank into. “If he’s still mad, he just might need to cool off. Let him come to you. You guys were fighting, right?”

“But it wasn’t that big of a fight!” Harry protested.

“Well maybe… maybe this is a good thing?” she tested. “You two were fighting a lot.”

“It just… why didn’t he write me? Don’t you think he’d at least write something?”

“He didn’t?”

“Harry,” she said in her most serious tone. “It sounds like it really is over.”

And then he was crying all over again, but this time he had his friends around to murmur kind things to him and rub his back, and to help him settle back in to his life before all of this.They went drinking and visited with Teddy and encouraged him to go on double-dates with them and eventually to leave the closet. Harry reconnected with some people from school and visited Hogwarts. Little by little, his appetite returned, but mostly he drank whiskey or coffee or both and tried to stop thinking about _him_. He never did quite recover from sleeping alone, however.

 

* * *

 

After work, Harry apparated to the Burrow, and was greeted by Teddy, who slammed into Harry’s knees and tried to drag him across the room to show new toys. Ron’s mom hugged Harry tight and cooed over his ring, and then released him back to Teddy’s whims. Soon, she had produced a tray of snacks and tea, and, as Harry hoped, had embraced him wholeheartedly with her love, love he desperately needed.

Harry timed his visits to coincide with days she babysat, so that any awkward silence would be taken over by either Teddy’s babbling or him loudly playing with his toys. If anyone did try to dig into Harry’s thoughts, Harry would move to the floor and take up whatever game Teddy wanted to play.

He loved the kid, for having Remus’s eyes (when he wasn’t shifting eye colors, anyways) and for carrying Tonk’s brightness and he wanted that kid to feel loved more than anything, the way he’d never felt at the Dursleys’s. And when Teddy was older, Harry would be there to talk about what it meant to lose your parents. With Teddy, Harry sometimes imagined being a dad and the whole thing didn’t terrify him. He just needed to stop being a goddamn mess.

Harry use to avoid the Burrow. Ron’s mom and dad hated Snape, hated everything about their relationship - and they were so happy Snape had broken it off, when Harry was miserable. He wanted sympathy and answers, and not “that bastard” and “better off” bits.

But with Scott, things changed. Now poor, damaged Harry was saved by the love of a Good Man and suddenly his sexuality stopped being deviant. (Scott had that effect on people.) People that had been avoiding Harry had entered back into the picture. Harry had been too happy at the time to really examine it.

“Are you nervous about the big day?” Ron’s mom asked him, occasionally rubbing his hand, his ring, that foreign, silver band he still didn’t think was on his hand.

“A little,” he admitted. “It’s happening pretty fast.”

She took his hand then and held it gently. “It’ll be over so quick, faster than you think.”

Harry wasn’t sure what was meant to be reassuring about that, and luckily (or unluckily), Ginny came through the door with a sudden pop and he was absolved from responding.

They never knew what to say each other. At some time she had been obviously interested in him, and (maybe vainly) he wondered if that crush ever went away. He could see his life move in a different direction, with her, with the Weasley family entirely, and although tempting, they really didn’t share any interests besides Quidditch. She, in turn, took Harry’s coming out in a strange way, and didn’t know how to talk with him, which Harry made no move to amend.

She first kissed her mother’s cheek, then swooped Teddy in her arms for more hugs and kisses. Eyes averted, she murmured, “Congratulations” while then deploying Harry’s tactic of keeping the attention on the child, rather than converse with the adults. Damn, his tactic used against him. Now literally pinned down, Harry braved through all the advice Ron’s mom had about being a housewife and wished he hadn’t decided to give up drinking. Even Ginny felt sorry for him, throwing him a look of pity, but not enough to rescue him from this hell. Jerk.

 

* * *

 

In Harry’s head, there remained two offenses for him to weather. Well, three. He had to get past his own bachelor party, he had to get through the rehearsal dinner, and he had to get through the wedding. If he could just get past those things, maybe everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another thing to ponder about the wizarding world - do they have better care for mental illness/"invisible" illness or worse than ours (by which I mean American)? I want to say worse, but it's debatable.
> 
> Chapter title from Housman's poem again.


	7. Loving is Easy, You Had Me Fucked Up

There were approximately 700 million wizards worldwide, and of all of them, it was Harry Potter he'd run into in Diagon Alley. Which in all fairness was a statistical probability, but it one he categorically ignored - anything about Harry he refused to think about anymore.

See, Harry had been a dream. Okay, more accurately, he had been a complete nightmare, but he'd matured, he'd left the school a boy, and returned to battle, to die, as a man. He'd been a man and a man that wouldn't leave him alone. Had Harry not left his side, Severus might have brushed the attraction aside as an adrenaline-induced hallucination, or to rather he could have acknowledged he had matured handsomely and left it at that.

And then Harry had to keep coming back to him, caring for him, laughing with him. This Harry that spoke with him made him laugh, and could sit comfortably in silence. He couldn't understand it, why he'd ever want to do those things with him. He'd cried when they first made love, but Harry was so beautiful, and his. They kept it a secret for years, which had been mostly fine. Severus had been accustomed to keeping secrets.

Once it felt like something lasting (ha!), they told Harry's family, which was more or less a practice. Harry cared very little about what the Dursleys thought. Telling the Weasley clan had been much worse. They had suspected something, but the horror at the reveal was immediate and suffocating, but nothing could be done. It was out. Thankfully, it was never leaked (they cared too much about Harry's reputation to do so), but what they had was already damaged.

It had been good while it lasted.

For months, Harry tried to squeeze Severus into their social events. He tried setting up dinners and day trips. They fought over holidays - to stay in (at which point, they more or less lived together) or torture and be tortured by his “surrogate family” that tried setting him up with other people, openly, in front of him.

This so-called family that begged Harry to date women again or alternatively to see him for the monster he was.

“They're just trying to understand us,” Harry said. “They just, you know, care.”

“What can I say?” he replied. “They've already condemned me.”

“They just need more time,” Harry would say, ever the goddamn optimist.

But Harry hadn't been there when Arthur Weasley had cornered him and outright accused him of molesting the boy, of grooming him into the relationship. “As the closest thing to his guardian,” he said, straightening his back, “I want you to know I'll always be watching everything you do. Every position you take, every boy you ever look at, I'll expose you. I can't convince Harry to see the truth, but I'll be damned if you do it again.” Hard to believe he'd ever thought of him as an ally, as someone he respected.

The accusation had been so revolting, so grotesque, he drank for a week. Back when drinking was his way of dealing with things, while Harry smoked if anything. It wasn't like he was particularly proud for having such a young lover, and the very idea they thought he'd - that he'd ever considered such a thing. Merlin, he still had nightmares. If he'd ever felt anything  _ bordering  _ on sexual when Harry was his student, he might've gone ahead and killed himself. The very idea he could be anything like his father terrified him.

He never told Harry about that. Or Arthur's threat.

So then there was goddamn Romania.

The Weasley family wanted to visit their son, Charlie, and Harry wanted them to both go. He thought the month of forcing them to confront one another would magically solve the tension. He couldn't stomach Arthur's threats, or Molly's hatred - and she had once sheltered him, mothered him back in the Order days. And seeing Harry's friends only reminded him of school days, the gap in their age, and he'd be sick all over again. So he refused to go.

Harry's disappointment was palatable, but he went anyways.

Opportunity struck in Severus's mind. There would always be this tension between them as long as Harry remained close with the Weasleys. Either they both accepted the tension or broke it off. Well, Harry had the time away from him to think it over.

So he wrote an ultimatum of sorts. If Harry wanted him, and all of him, he would leave for Romania at once. He would stomach the Weasleys, he would dutifully attend those social events. He submitted. But if Harry wanted the security of his family - and Harry really needed to think on this - they should make a clean break. Infinite stupidity, he'd ended the letter “Whatever you decide, I'll always love you.”

But he'd loved Harry, and apparently more than he loved himself.

What he really, truly hated about himself is that he packed his bags anyways and waited for Harry's reply. But Harry'd never bothered to even write back.

So he'd dumped all of Harry's things outside.

And that should have been it. He should've been able to finish his miserable life with peace, to erase Harry from his memory and to move on.

But there he was again in Diagon Alley, a bit ragged but wanting to  _ catch up _ . (How stupid of him to hope it was anything more.) And then wanting to gloat his engagement in Severus's face (no matter what he said.) So he'd fucked him, reminded him what they'd once had. If Harry was going to violate his agreement, then by Merlin, he'd do the same.

But there he was again at his doorstep, a bit drunk but wanting to  _ catch up _ . He'd had Lucius over, but the man could wait for all he cared. So they walked around the block, they talked, Harry invited him to the wedding, Harry had touched his arm, he didn't understand any of what he was doing. When he invited him inside, Harry had turned him down wistfully. Harry had radiated an aura of sadness his legillimency couldn't ignore, but it was too late for regrets. It had to be.

But there Harry was again, writing him a letter, inviting him out to show off his new fiancé. And of course, Harry's future husband was perfect. They were close in age, he had a good education, good looks, and a bright future. He shouldn't have agreed to come, but he rarely did what was best for him. And why was he here? Harry was on his way to drunk and quiet, observing them. So Severus unleashed his bastard self, intimidated him, reminded him what a Scary, Bad Man he was. He sat by Harry, and was able to avoid having to face him, lest he get lost in his eyes.  He drank from the bottle, and interrogated the man before him. But the fiancé never rose for the bait, and Harry had only seemed amused. When Severus did look at him, he couldn't read the expression there.

And there Harry was again, and this time very drunk. Always drunk, and wanting to go to a bar. His Harry looked lost and confused, but so was he. So they went and he listened to Harry, matched his every drink while he talked about how utterly perfect the fiancé was, but he was distressed and his eyes kept begging for something that Severus couldn't guess at.

And then: “Why didn't you ever write me back?”

But Severus had written him, that was the question he'd had for Harry. They had evidently both written the other. And neither had received the others' letters. Harry had vomitted; Severus thought he was close behind, but they couldn't do this, not when Harry had someone perfect, the kind of support and love he needed. What was he supposed to tell him now? The Weasleys had interfered. And maybe one of their letters got lost, but there was no way he believed both of them had. So maybe, and more likely, someone had read his letter, and hid it, and let Severus draw his own conclusions. Either way: they'd won. 

And what was the point of telling Harry any of this now? The Weasleys were the only family Harry had. Were Harry to approach him again, he'd know to send him away once and for all. And if not, there were research opportunities he could apply for in other countries. He doubted Arthur would block him now, especially to let him leave. It was all fucked up, but he couldn't imagine a better outcome.

Like it or not, this was his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Severus gets his own (short) chapter.
> 
> Chapter title from Rex Orange County's song "Loving is Easy" - something about the second line always cracks me up. Rex OC means it playfully, like fucked up in a good way but out of context (like here) I think it really gets to what Severus is feeling IMHO.
> 
> Congrats to making it this far, we're getting to the end.


	8. Three Letters and a Wedding

 

> _...Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?_
> 
> _Tell me, what is it you plan to do_
> 
> _with your one wild and precious life?_
> 
> -Mary Oliver ("The Summer Day")

 

Harry use to think love was a forever thing.

Maybe that was part of growing up, learning that love didn’t exist. Find someone you can handle for long periods of time, that you generally agree with. It won’t be love, but it’ll feel close enough. That’s what would last.

The thing was, he really did like Scott, but what he felt for him didn’t compare to the things he felt for Severus. And that sucked, And maybe all those things he felt for Severus had only been one-sided, but it was something he was never going to know for sure.

Every day leading up to this - his wedding  day - had passed in a blur. He pretended to enjoy male strippers with a largely female bachelor party (and some brave male friends of his), he plastered on a smile for the rehearsal of their vows, and now here he was, nearly at the finish line.

Still, his legs felt like stone. He was wearing the dress robes they’d picked out for him, in the venue they’d all liked so he could marry a man they all found palatable. And then what? Now, he wasn’t sure if he could make himself take the next steps to seal his fate to a life that wasn’t his own.

There was a knock on his door then. There, he’d have to get up. He’d have to respond to that.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile Severus had intended to slip late into the ceremony, to find instead he was on time. The wedding was off to a late start. Worse, Minerva had seen him and wanted him to sit by her. There really was no reason for him not to, so he slipped by her, but her Dumbledore-esque peacock robes today were going to make it harder for him to fade into the background.

“These kids grow up so fast,” she said, after they had greeted one another.

He grunted.

“Do you remember when we first saw him at the sorting hat ceremony?” she continued.

“Do you know what the hold-up is?” Severus asked instead.

“Oh, finalizing some details I’m sure. It seems weddings rarely start on time,” she twirled around in her seat looking for other people they might know. “Now, this Scott boy - he seems very sweet.”

“He’s annoyingly perfect.”

“Oh! You know him?”

Her gaze swiveled back toward him; he neutralized his expression. “Harry and I were close for some time.”

“Hum.”

“They are a good match,” he relented. “They will do well together.”

“That’s good,” she said, choking somewhat. To his horror, he realized she was beginning to cry. Worse, he probably might as well and then they'd be, two pathetic, sobbing biddies.

Instead, he scanned the room and took in the goddawful blue roses that someone had thought would be a good idea. And paired with baby's breath? What exactly were they expecting to happen between two men? Blue was a color that never fit Harry, didn't they realize that? Harry would've hated all of this.

It was sickening.

No, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter to him. He was here to see it through and to close this chapter of his life.

But why the hell wasn’t the ceremony happening already? What other awful details needed to be finalized? As far as he could tell, all the guests had arrived and all was ready; it was the grooms that were missing. 

He wasn't the only one beginning to fidget and look around. With a strange certainty, he thought 'Harry's going to back out and it'll be my fault if I don't stop him from ruining his life.'  He mumbled an excuse and rose from his seat.  He had to see Harry.

 

* * *

 

Harry had to make a decision before he left this room, before he opened the door, and before he’d opened it, he knew exactly who he was hoping for. But didn’t that-

Too late, the door came open; Ginny slipped through, red-faced all the more apparent juxtaposed by her blue dress robes. She closed the door behind her and somehow blushed any deeper.

“You look, er, nice?” Harry tried.

“Cut the crap. Do you want to do this?” she asked. “I want to know, are you really ready for this?”

“No,” he said. “I mean, I don’t -”

“There’s something you should know about, well, before, I mean if you’re-” she reached for something inside her robes, and came back with some parchment,

“Ginny, you don’t have to - I mean, I’m flattered, but I’m not-”

“Just shut up and look at them, okay? And be quick about it, because people are getting antsy.”

And there they were, the answers he’d wanted this whole time. As soon as he saw the top letter, _his_ letter, he found the pieces falling in place. Because if she had these, then Severus had never received them. And below that… his heart stopped at the familiar writing.

“Look, I’m not proud of this, I’m really not,” she said, arms folded tight to her chest. “But I was jealous and they wanted me to hide them and it was never fair to you. I mean you… you really…:” Her apology went to deaf ears, because there was a crinkled letter with his name on it from Severus, one he never imagined existed, and blood was pounding away in his ears. He fell back on his chair and traced his name, Severus’s name. He couldn’t stop trembling.

“Well, read it!” Ginny cut in, but he wavered.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered. “He doesn’t even- I don’t know if I can handle this.”

“Then _I’ll_ read it,” she volunteered, grabbing back for it.

“Shit,” he said. “Shit. Fine. I’ll - fine.”

She watched him carefully as he read the ultimatum, and his apology. He even sighed it off with an impossibly cool declaration of love - _I’ll always love you._ Which meant Severus had thought Harry’d never responded, had taken up with the deal, and had shut him out entirely. Harry remembered the pause when Harry had asked him why he hadn’t written, that pause, and then he’d pushed him away. Why hadn’t he noticed that pause?

Everything about the letter was impossible - both everything he’d wanted to hear, and a reminder it didn’t matter how much they loved each other (if Severus even could still love him), _they_ wouldn’t accept him. So he had to make a choice.

There was another knock.

 

* * *

 

When it was apparent Harry was frozen in place, Ginny peered through, not too surprised to see who was on the other end.

“Well, I’ll be going,” she announced, shooting Harry a look and slipping past his visitor. “And… just… Sorry. In advance,” she mumbled to Severus before closing him into the dressing room.

Severus’s breath caught, to see Harry and to see him in deep royal blue robes, embroidered in silky white arabesque. His usual flop of a mess hair had been tamed into feather-soft waves, and gods, it hurt, to want someone so much you couldn’t have, that you once had.  This had been a mistake, but he was already there.

“You came.”

“I did.” He had, and he had come with the intent of dragging him to Westree’s altar, but doing so committed Harry to a life without him. The pressure of that reality coming together suffocated him.

“Came for a last go with me?” Harry joked.

“I came to wish you well in your marriage,” Severus said, every word a lead weight on his tongue. “I only wish for what’s best for you.”

Harry swallowed hard, realizing how true that was.  “Would you have ever told me?” Harry asked, waving the letter in view. He watched Severus’s expression harden, neither able to hide the sudden emotion, nor free to express it.

“How... ?”

“Ginny had them, yours and mine.” Trembling, Harry stood and handed him the letters that were his, but his eyes wouldn’t leave Harry’s.

“If you’ve read it,” Severus said, hoarse, “then you should know how impossible this is.”

“If you read mine, you would know I don’t care.” Harry looked away. “I don’t want to keep playing this part and I don’t know why I kept up with it. This (he gestured to himself) this is not me.”

“We all play a part.”

“We shouldn’t have to.” Harry sighed. “I know I hurt you and I don’t expect you’d want me again, but I can’t go through with this. It’s not fair to him and it’s not fair for me. So I guess I should, er, I should tell someone.”

And then there was knock.

And another letter.

 

* * *

 

What Harry didn’t know was that Scott had been fighting his own internal battle. He liked Harry, he did, and he liked that Harry was safe . They had an easy relationship, that felt undemanding and secure. Harry had both desperately wanted him, but could disassociate from him for days: a lover on demand in a way.

But what scared Scott was Jack.

It was easy when Jack was off-limits, because Jack was straight and Jack was threatened by Scott’s feelings, but Scott hadn’t known that. They’d been kids, then. Scott’s gaze had lingered too long on his friend’s bare chest, beaded with sweat (good hera, what a chest); he had been a little too close (and thought Jack was moving closer). He’d made a move; Jack didn’t take it well.

And then they were friends again, because Jack had apologized years later (out of the blue), because he wanted to make amends… and because Scott needed a best man. How could he have anticipated a kiss, that those feelings had never gone away?

Scott hadn’t meant to kiss him back… or to kiss him again, but he’d always wondered about him, had always wanted him… it was a last go before the big day.

Harry was such a good match for him, it just didn’t make sense why his tongue was down Jack’s throat, why he needed to feel pinned down - _devoured._ There simply existed a thrill aspect that he didn’t feel for Harry.

Plus, the situation with his former death eater professor was a bit too out there.

The big takeaway for Scott was that he didn’t feel guilty for what he was doing, but he felt that it was something to feel guilty for. In a sense, he felt guilty for not feeling guilty, but moreso he felt _complete_ in a way he couldn’t describe. Jack gave into him wholeheartedly; Harry kept one foot grounded, somewhere far from him. Scott thought that maybe that was just a part of Harry that would forever be closed off, but he’d never experienced something so bodily as what Jack gave to him. Gods, he _gave_.

But Merlin, he had waited to give it to him the night of his wedding.

In the end - and how truly insane it was - he just didn’t want to waste any more time in the love they could share. If Scott had been patient, if Jack had accepted himself, if so many other things, they wouldn’t have lost out on those years.

So he wrote a letter to Harry that night.

And he fought with it, with himself, with Jack, up until the moment he saw himself in his dress robes and could only imagine Jack standing beside him.

Maybe it was stupid, but maybe it was inevitable. And maybe he’d always love Harry in a way, and maybe they could be something in the future, but not right now.

Scott had signed his name and had handed it off to Ron’s sister, the first of the family he saw on his way out. Let them handle the business end of it all, he had his life to live.

 

* * *

 

 _I will always cherish our time together_ , was how Scott had finished the letter. Cherish - the word had already placed their relationship in the past. Harry had silently passed the letter to Severus, who offered it back to its carrier - Ginny.

“Are you alright?” Severus asked him, and god he loved him, loved him to ask.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to go break the news to everyone?” Ginny asked.

He shook his head. Harry was done with letting everyone maneuver him, mold him into someone he never was; as shitty as it was going to be, it was something he had to do for himself. Just the idea of the life that was going to be before him, that blank canvas suddenly felt exhilarating, rather than the looming threat it once posed.

Ginny grabbed and crushed him tight to her. “I’m right here with you” she said.  

Strengthened, Harry shoved the papers into his coat and embraced Severus just as tightly. He nestled into his neck, breathed deep and had to force himself to let go. Did he imagine Severus was just as reluctant?

“Can I see you later?” Harry asked, squeezing his hands.

“You’re asking for permission this time?”

Harry had a hard time wiping the smile from his face. It wouldn’t exactly be acceptable to deliver the kind of news he needed to, grinning ear to ear.

 

* * *

 

Roughly half of the crowd he’d never met (or forgot if he had), and the other he registered their disappointment in him when they saw him standing there, and without his future partner. A new, stronger voice inside him whispered: _So what?_ He was never going to make everyone happy. He’d tried that and ended up miserable.

“Thank you all for coming today to support me and Scott. I speak for both of us when I say it truly means a lot to see our community honoring a marriage between two wizards, but there will be no wedding today. It took this moment for the both of us to realize this wasn’t what we wanted.” (He made eye contact with the Weasleys) “This was a mutual decision.”

Harry had then invited the guests to enjoy the flowers, the beautiful day, and to partake in the free food and cake. Anything left over was already going to be donated to an orphanage nearby and the clean-up was going to be done by Dobby’s Cleaning Crew. He then slipped away, as more and more cameras were going off, disappearing into the chaos that followed, the slow move into action and reaction.

There were many things he needed to do next - quit his job, contact the house seller, write Scott, write numerous letters, get the hell out of the ridiculous clothes he found himself in.

And gods, maybe it wasn’t too late for him and Severus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In in earlier draft, I had made Scott blatantly use Harry for his fame, but in the end, I think the impact of Harry leaving him fit better when Scott was mostly genuine and just as lost in his own personal journey. Anyways... I hoped I made him interesting enough to bare reading about, but we all know this is a Snarry fic :) 
> 
> Chapter title... is actually not directly from anything
> 
> Leave kudos, comments, concerns. Thanks for the read! We have one chapter left!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, truly. Please thank the gods that watch over me. They told me to stop being a perfectionist, release the story, and enjoy the writing process. Additionally, blame the gods if this is a trainwreck

Harry changed into jeans and a hoodie, and then set fire to his weddings robes. In the mirror, Harry looked comfortable and free. He was still too skinny, still a bit haunted around the eyes, but more importantly, he was able to look at himself. He had a new awareness, a levity he’d been chasing for a long time.  

Right now, his apartment was a mess. He’d just had to stand in front of a crowd of people that thought they knew him and break up his own wedding because his fiancé had been in love with his best man while Harry himself was fucking around with his own ex-boyfriend, all of which he was about to read chopped-up versions in the papers soon for the next month or so. He’d also found out that his “found-family” had interfered and broke up his relationship with Severus, and then lied to him for years after. He had no idea what his life was going to look like now.

But gods, he was free.

And he was going to see Severus.

 

* * *

 

Severus handed him a glass of whiskey before greetings or letting him in the door. Harry nudged the offering away and slipped inside. 

“I think I’ve had enough of that for awhile,” Harry said, his body humming at a momentary contact, Harry’s shoulder, Severus’s arm. He held himself back from leaning entirely in those arms and falling so far, he’d lose himself all over again.

“Well,” he said, helping himself to the drink. “I need it myself. Tea then?”

“Please.” He slipped off his shoes at the door. “Do you have-”

“My rose tea?” Severus finished, already holding the satchel. “Three sugars, still?”

“Yeah.”

Harry joined him into the kitchen and watched him with hungry eyes as he was pouring almost boiling water into a teacup, and then very methodically steeping the bag with his long, long fingers. Gods.

“You look… nice,” Severus said, and Harry tried to bite back a smile. “Your hair…”

“Oh, er, yeah, they conditioned it, I think. Something like that?”

“May I?” he asked, and oh gods, that hand was coming toward him and Harry thought he should say no, because he was hardly managing words and they had to talk about what had happened, right? But his touch was careful, agonizingly light, Harry’s ears were roaring with the pounding of his blood. 

“Oh fuck,” Severus said. Oh fuck, Harry agreed.

But he was pulling back and Harry came back to someone knocking on the door, and Severus with a pained expression. 

“Fuck, I forgot I had a, uh, date.” He ran a hand through his own hair. Harry very determinedly stared at the floor and willed his body back in control. Stupid of him, so stupid, had he really expected they’d return to what they were before? 

“Shit, I can leave.” Already, he accio’d his shoes back to him, but then Severus had grabbed his shoulders suddenly.

“Harry, stay. Please. I’ll be right back.”

Dazed, he dropped his shoes, although it was unclear what Severus had meant. Wait until after the date? Wait until he could rearrange that date for another time? 

Why had he given up drinking? 

Harry quietly removed the teabag and stirred in the sugars, seeing suddenly that the teacup that Severus had chosen for him had been the very same one Harry often grabbed for when they were together. It was too small in Severus’s hands, but it fit into Harry’s snugly. Harry had spent many nights nursing that cup against his neck, and he did so now, feeling warm, and calm.  Severus made this tea from his garden roses, but he’d never liked it himself. He’d dried them for Harry, had set them in satchels for Harry, and had apparently kept it up. 

“Sorry,” Severus said, a word that Harry knew he didn’t easily say. And then: “I hadn’t thought - I mean, I had arranged that date last week before any of this, and I’d forgotten all about that whole thing and - and _what_ in the world are you grinning about?” But Harry couldn’t help it. The man he loved had never stopped loving him and he was right there, red-faced, babbling and gesturing wildly. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” Harry explained, taking another sip. 

Severus took a deep, steadying breath. “The last thing I want is to ruin this again.”

Harry nodded. “What I want more than anything right now is for you to take me to bed and fuck me until I forget how shitty everything got.” Harry got his eyebrows for that. “But I mean, we should probably, actually talk.”

“We could talk in bed,” he said, then held his palms up. “Joking. I hope you know I’m rubbish at this sort of thing.”

So was Harry. But they were going to get better at it. 

 

* * *

 

They sat at Severus’s table, because they knew any type of contact would overthrow their efforts. Severus switched to a black tea and Harry had his own cup tight in his grip. 

“So, uh, are you going to see that guy again?” Harry started. 

“Who?" Severus asked, momentarily startled. "Oh, no, of course not.”

“I mean, would you be if I wasn’t here?”

“If you’d married, I might’ve. I doubt it would’ve gone very far, I just wanted the distraction.”

“Why wouldn’t it go far?”

“Because he’s not you.”

 “Oh.”

“If we’re doing this _talking_ thing, then what made you say ‘yes’ to _his_ proposal?”

“I didn’t really say ‘yes’ or… anything. I actually fainted.”

“What do you mean _fainted_?”

“I mean he asked me in front of a load of people and I just sort of passed out. And then everyone assumed I said yes and I don’t know, I just kind of went with it.”

“Now, that does sound more like you - just going along with things.”

“Whatever.”

“You always did that with Arthur and Molly, that lot. Whatever they told you, you just went with it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m done with that.” Now that he’d said it outloud, it felt more real. He could’ve handled everything else with them - the snide comments and all - but lying to his face? That was a step too far. “They had no right to interfere with us.”

“No. No, they didn't." Severus fixed his gaze hard on his own glass when he spoke again. “Harry, I just want to be sure - what are you asking of me right now? What do you need from me?”

“Huh?”

“If what you require from me is friendship, or a fuck, or something temporary, I can do that, I just need to know, but if this is - Harry, if this is something more than that...” He took a breath. "Am I foolish for hoping?"

"Only if I am for wanting the same thing." He couldn't help the smile covering his face. "Being with you again, though this, it only reminded me how in love with you I am."

"I was cruel to you." 

"I thought it was kind of hot."

"Have we satisfied this talking prerequisite of yours?"

"Almost. I just need to say it, okay, because I didn't know how to say it before: I love you, Severus. I'll always love you."

Met his expectant expression with a great deal of embarrassment. "Harry Potter, my heart is and has always been yours alone." A very deep breath, he reached out and took Harry’s hand in his own. It seemed impossible that that small bit of contact sent his heart soaring higher than anything that had ever happened with Scott, impossible that he would’ve married him that morning, but he didn’t feel any regrets that their relationship failed so abruptly. 

Severus’s hand stuck Harry as rough and encapsulating, warm and electric against his skin. He rubbed against the indentation from the ring Harry wore briefly (the one already being flown back to its benefactor) and then stood so that he could kiss Harry there. When his gaze flickered back up to Harry’s, he found an expression Harry couldn’t name - it was something deep, adoring, and desiring. To name it as anything would cheapen what it meant. How could it be just “love?” This felt like something that they had only discovered in each other, that no one could possibly have known before because what they felt was theirs alone. 

 

* * *

 

They’d moved to Severus’s bed, needing to be pressed against one another. Harry tucked himself under Severus’s chin, and felt the man shiver every time he pressed his lips to that pale neck. Severus, in return, stroked Harry’s arm and shoulders, at times squeezing him closer. 

Harry remembered his ex-fiancé’s bed as sterile and unwelcoming, but here, he was embraced by a scent so uniquely Severus, he’d decided he was never going to leave from this spot. He would spend the rest of his life nudging closer to Severus and projecting with every nuzzle, with every kiss, how desperately he was in love with him. 

But then that need translated into a quickened breath, a firmer press, a more frantic touch. They reached for one another, hand to hand to lips to tongue. Harry didn’t want to waste any more time - he straddled on Severus’s lap, first kicking his pants off to lifting the other’s robe and whined in frustration at clothing, and awkward angles and at not having that cock buried in his ass already. 

“Please, just fuck me.”

“Hold on-” Severus twisted a finger inside him; it wasn’t near enough.

“I can’t - fuck - _please_.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Severus grunted.

“Didn’t stop you before,” Harry groaned in reply. “Just do it.”

And _gods_ it hurt but Harry needed it to, he wanted that raw friction, wanted to see Severus panting at the sensation. Last time he’d been drunk and stupid and horny, and Severus had been vindictive and harsh. Here, with every clench of his ass, he had Severus powerless under him. Severus, who was sweating from the effort of letting Harry adjust, by not thrusting any further than he had. Severus, who’s entire focus was on Harry alone - if only they could live on this precarious moment, but oh, oh he was ready, aching- 

He let Severus’s cock slide as far inside him as he could and felt the man thrusting up to meet him. Some sort of whine came out of him but it was quickly lost in Severus’s moans, the slap of flesh and the blood drumming in his ears, as they fell back into a remembered rhythm. When Severus took hold of Harry’s cock, he lost all semblance of control, Severus had him, owned him entirely, or no, they belonged to each other, they were moving together, and fuck fuck fuck he was coming or Severus was coming or they were both coming and shouting and then resting back into each other’s arms to catch their breaths.

“Next time, we should use lube.”

Severus chuckled, kissed a part of his ear. “Next time, I’ll do a more proper job with you.”

“You mean you’ll make me hold off cumming.” Another kiss. “You’ll torture me.”

“I assure you you will enjoy it.”

And by Merlin, he did.

 

* * *

 

Their relationship wasn’t a smooth transition. Harry woke up to Severus bolting from the bedroom, red letter in hand. Harry hadn’t heard the shouting (a quick silencing charm must have been put in place), but a number of other letters from Ron and his parents and Ginny all clued him in to its contents days later. Severus had only returned to the bed, embraced Harry and stroked his back until he went back to sleep. 

Eventually Harry did talk to them, those he had thought of as family. He sat in the Burrow and wished he could entertain Teddy instead of face The Weasleys and his best friends Ron and Hermione, and even Ginny’s pitying looks, but he’d learned something about communicating directly with those he loved. So he told them how he’d run into Severus in Diagon Alley, how he wouldn’t have gone through with the marriage even if Scott hadn’t been the first to bow out, and how hurt he had been by their lying to him.

And to Harry’s surprise, they listened. Harry suspected it had something to do with Ginny smoothing things over, but Ron’s mom and dad apologized for the howler, and then Hermione embraced Harry and announced she and Ron were pregnant, and had really wanted Harry to be an uncle to their future child. (They’d found out before the wedding but hadn’t went to steal Harry’s thunder, of course) The easiest thing to do would have gone along with it and been welcomed back into the fold, to hug them all back and cry it out and move on.

Instead, he told them in no uncertain words, “I just need time to process all this,” knowing fully that that relationship would never be the same. And realistically, it hadn’t been for a long time.

Harry also had to see Scott again to return his things and iron out a few details. Oh, they could’ve sent packages and dodged one another but Harry had wanted to be sure Scott knew there was no ill will between them. ‘Our relationship was doomed from the beginning,’ Scott had joked, and Harry partially agreed. They shook hands, wished each other luck, and happily agreed to never meet again.

The final thing that Harry and Severus had talked a long time over was whether they would go public with their relationship - it was dramatic, to be sure, but it meant coming out on their own terms. It meant a level of commitment and Harry was eager to let people know exactly who had his heart. 

Unanimously after spending days together in bed, they decided to travel to other countries. It had the dual purpose of avoiding the people that knew them, and to finally get out together. After the article ran, they declined all mail and walked hand-in-hand through Barcelona, and in Oslo, and even New York. They fought, they made love, they loved. 

All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! 
> 
> I have a lot of thoughts regarding getting back together with an ex, so let me be clear that, in most cases, that kind of thing does NOT work out. Cheating on your partner rarily works out. This is a work of fiction. Got it? Cool.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought. Hated it, loved it, &etc, &etc. 
> 
> Until the next story!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you all for getting to the end! This is a story I apparently started in 2013, tried to complete again in 2016, and have now finished. So hey, don't give up on your dreams! 
> 
> This baby is COMPLETE and should be uploaded after some minor edits. Please let me know what you thought - confusing? cringy? the best ever? I aim to please.
> 
> Chapter title is a Sufjan Stevens song, written for the Call Me Your Name soundtrack. If you haven't seen or read it yet, what are you even doing? Go! 
> 
> Title is from a poem by A.E. Housman. It (and some others) are about an unrequited love he had for a straight guy in college, which never seemed to go away. He apparently stopped writing poems after the guy died some 40 years later. Romantic, right?


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